The stench of your feet makes me gag as I enter.
The food in your beard, I think it's polenta.
I've never met a man as bogan as you.
You're wearing my socks, and inside, I spew.
And the whiff when I wake is burning my brain,
It flattens my Monday like the Chernobyl rain.
I know my board and beverage is free for the taking,
But this noxious contempt makes me question my faking.
For I'm not you mother, and I don't wipe your arse,
And I'm not your lover, the respect would be sparse.
So get in the shower and scrub yourself with brillo,
Or soon you will wake, your face pushed in pillow.
And please wash away the grime of discontent,
Because I'm giving up pity this Easter for lent.
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